Sestra i Brat
by Ossian
Summary: The real story behind Sydney and Sark's New Orleans meeting - Set in the same universe as "Thicker Than Water"


This will undoubtedly make considerably more sense if you've read "_Thicker Than Water_". This is the full story behind the tale Sydney recounts to her father in chapter 22.

Sestrá i Brat

* * * *

New Orleans was hot - a good ten degrees hotter than Los Angeles was this time of year - and she was glad that she'd worn her hair pulled up. She had been here before and knew exactly where he'd be waiting. She had the cab drop her off near St. Louis Cathedral and took her time walking through the small park that stood between the church and the Café du Monde. The decision to meet him had been made impulsively, but she knew instinctively that it was right. There were things that needed to be settled between the two of them alone.

The canvas walls of the café were rolled up in the late summer heat so even from the sidewalk she could see him seated near the back. His blond head was bent over a paperback book as he absently stirred a cup of coffee. She dropped into the chair across from him and waited as he deliberately finished the page he was reading. She helped herself to one of the beignets on the half-empty plate in front of him.

"What do you want?" she asked when he deigned to glance up at her finally. She wasn't at all surprised to see him smirk at her tone.

"I wanted to see whether you'd come."

"Well, here I am."

"Yes." His grin faded slightly and he seemed at a sudden loss for words. They stared at one another appraisingly.

He seemed older than she remembered. Two years would do that to a person, she mused. All those months spent in solitary confinement in a CIA prison cell had done their share of aging him too. She wasn't entirely sure that she'd ever really looked at him this closely before. Had that shimmer of uncertainty always been behind his confident façade? Or had that been put there when his world, too, had fallen apart?

"Did you tell Jack that you were coming?" he asked at last.

"Jack?" she repeated curiously, before she could stop herself.

"They've always been your parents," he explained with a shrug. "It was odd enough to think of them as mine while you were gone. I'm not certain that I'm ready to think of them as ours yet. Did you tell him?" he asked again.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's none of his damn business," she snapped and was startled by his sudden burst of laughter. She tried to remember if it was a sound she had ever heard before. "Does Mom - Irina - know you're here?" 

He shook his head. "None of her damn business either." 

"Why did you set this up?"

"I wanted to be certain you weren't going to shoot me again the next time we met."

"I suppose that will depend on what you're doing the next time we meet."

He chuckled quietly. "You are your mother's daughter. She said something very similar to me."

"I'd believe her if I were you. She doesn't bluff about things like that."

"And you do?" 

"Brat," she muttered at his amused expression.

"I am sorry, sestrá" he said with mock-contrition. "You winged her once, so I suppose you don't always bluff." 

She barely heard his teasing retort, puzzling instead over the unexpected name until she realized what had prompted it. She had intended the insult in English. He had deliberately chosen to hear it in Russian, and responded in kind.

"A rather ironic linguistic coincidence, nyet?" he smirked as her comprehension dawned.

She stared at him a moment longer… and couldn't help snickering back at him - at how doubly appropriate the appellation was. "If I'd ever wanted a little brother, you are most definitely not what I had in mind."

"So sorry to disappoint," he said, not sounding terribly apologetic. "You know, I used to think that your family was dysfunctional before I learned that I was part of it."

"Did you really not suspect that before Jack told you?" she asked him. "How could you not have guessed that she was your mother?"

His snort was self-deprecating. "How could I?" He looked at her calculatingly for a moment then shrugged. "Perhaps… when I was a child, I thought I wanted her to be. When I got older, I saw that for what it was - the foolish delusion of a boy who didn't have anything else. If there was ever any evidence of it later, I dismissed it as the remnant of a childish fantasy. It was a ridiculous idea."

"Not so ridiculous now, huh?"

"No, it's still ridiculous. It's just not so funny anymore."

The two siblings sat quietly in the humid Louisiana afternoon, contemplating the unfamiliar relationship that neither of them had ever expected to have. 

"So, what are you going to do now?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"The same thing I've always done," he replied negligently. "But that isn't the interesting question, is it? Except for this," he waved his hand between them in a gesture that she assumed was meant to imply their awkward, newfound connection. "My life hasn't changed all that much from what it was two years ago. The question is - what are you going to do now?"

"Find out what happened. Put my life back together."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why try to put things back the way they were? Were you happy then?" His gaze was sharp and she knew that they had gotten to the real reason he had brought her here. "You were lying to every friend you'd managed to make. Everyone else was trying to use you for one purpose or another of their own. I know that you didn't approve of some of the assignments that Kendall sent you on, and I believe that you may be quite nearly as fed up with this Rambaldi lunacy as I am. There is an alternative to all that."

"I think I've heard this proposal before."

"And I think that now you're finally in a position to appreciate it."

"You want me to become a mercenary?"

"You could call it 'crusader' if you like. You know politics bore me; I wouldn't care what we actually did. I'd be pleased to have you choose the missions."

"Generous offer."

"Better than you're getting from the CIA right now. They used to let me out in the field more often than they're letting you go." She flushed at that and he pressed his point. "Come work with me and you'd never have to wonder what hidden agenda is behind the operation. You'd never have to compromise your own values to protect your government's ill-conceived alliances or political indiscretions. Come work with me and be my conscience," he grinned. "I know Jack thinks I need one."

"You're just looking for a new master again."

"No, I'm looking for a new partner and I've always thought that we'd work well together," he said. "You may be surprised to learn that I've never been as ambitious as Irina has always assumed. I don't want an empire. All I've ever wanted was to have control of my own life. I'm finally being allowed to do that. What about you?"

She stared at him, shocked to realize that she wasn't as ready to dismiss his arguments out of hand as she had been the first time he'd made this offer. He was good, she had to admit. He knew all the right buttons to push. But…

"No," she said. "I can't."

"It's a standing offer," he said amicably. "If things don't get any better for you at the Agency, it'll still be open. In the meanwhile - a show of good faith." He took a computer disk out of the satchel that had been under the table and handed it to her. "Something that I wasn't certain would reach you by any other means." 

She turned the disk over in her hands a few times as the import of his words sank in. Somehow she wasn't surprised that there might be things neither of her parents would want her to discover. She knew that whatever was on the disk might merely be her erstwhile adversary's newest ploy to win her to his own side. But that didn't necessarily mean that it wouldn't be true.

"What is it?" she asked.

"How much do you know about Halcyon?"

"Just what's in the profile analysis the CIA has on you. It was the KGB version of Project Christmas, based in London."

"Ever wonder why it wasn't based in Moscow or St. Petersburg?"

"British accents are cooler?" she shrugged.

"Aside from that," he grinned. "There's another organization in London. Officially it's a non-aligned social policy research foundation. Unofficially it's the most influential propagator of psychopolitics in the world."

"You're talking about the brainwashing institute. That's a complete fabrication."

"I assume you're basing that assertion on evidence given to you by one of their foremost clients," he said derisively. "I've been there. A good bit of Halcyon training was carried out by its employees. They didn't use many of the programming techniques on us because they wanted operatives who could still think for themselves, but they did teach us how to use a few manipulative methods of our own."

"You think that they -or one of their subsidiaries- might have brainwashed me?" 

"It's a bit difficult to lose two entire years without some sort of mental meddling."

"I know that," she scowled at him. "But we've already cleared the institute."

"Who cleared it? The CIA? Jack and Irina?" He gave her an almost pitying look. "This place has too many ties to all of them. That disk has everything I've been able to gather about some of their patrons' most recent activities. It's not a complete listing by any means. For that we'd need to go to the source, but it should give you enough information to see if you want to pursue it further."

"And if I do?"

"Then I'll help you."

"Why?"

"I may have learned a great deal from them," he said flatly. "But I didn't always enjoy it."

She tilted her head and looked at him thoughtfully. It was a believable answer, but she doubted that it was a complete one. "You said that the only thing you ever wanted was control of your own life. There is something else you always wanted but never had before, isn't there?" she asked. "You wanted to belong somewhere."

His eyes flickered away from her for the first time since her arrival. He caught himself though and looked back at her steadily. "Yes."

"Now you have that too."

"Do I?" 

She was taken aback by how much younger he suddenly looked. In that instant she saw a glimpse of what had made her father soften toward him. It wasn't his charm or his sense of humor, his intelligence or even his surprising honesty. It was the glimpse of what hid behind all of that. Her little brother was so very tired of being alone.

"Do you have any idea how defensive your father is of you?" she asked, not entirely certain that she'd meant to. His startled expression made her smile. "Have you ever seen how Mom looks when she talks about you now? I may have the benefit of being her firstborn, but you're her baby." He frowned at the label, but didn't argue. "If this is ever what you wanted, you do have it now."

"What about you?"

It was something she had been giving a lot of thought to in the past few months. It was why she had agreed to this meeting. It was why she sat here now.

"This is never what I wanted," she began slowly. "But I almost feel like you might be the only person I actually understand anymore. You're the only one I know whose life is just as screwed up as mine and for essentially the same reasons, and I've come to the horrible realization that you may actually be one of the most honest people I know. I've always understood every fight we've ever had, and as far as I can tell, you've only lied to me twice. You lied about wanting to kill Sloane and you set me up to take down the Alliance."

"I've only lied to you once," he said with a small grin. "I still intend to kill Sloane. I was merely imprecise about the timeframe."

"The point is," she said, ignoring the interruption. "Like it or not, you're part of this mess now. You're one of us… and I think I can deal with that if I have to."

"That's… good to know." His crooked smile was tentative.

"But if you screw up, I will shoot you."

"Again?" he sighed. "Getting shot is beginning to seem less like an occupational hazard and more like a genetic risk factor."

"Welcome to the Bristows, brat."

Silence returned to their corner of the café, not entirely easy, but still more companionable than it had been before.

"You would rather have everything back the way it was, wouldn't you?" he said eventually.

"Yes," she admitted. "Most of it."

"Like the Boy Scout?" He shrugged as she frowned at him. "If it's any consolation, he's an idiot. First he was foolish enough to fall for you. Then he was moronic enough to give up. He should have known better; Bristow women never die." He grinned suddenly. "If you really want him back, I suppose I could shoot his wife."

The suggestion so surprised her that she laughed without thinking. "That's sweet of you," she said in amusement, almost positive that he wasn't actually being serious. "But no. That's just a bit too dramatic."

"I could seduce her, then."

She snorted at that, realizing that he could be rather entertaining when he tried. "Better, but I still think I'll pass. You'd really do that for me?"

"I'd like to think of it more as doing it 'to him' rather than 'for you'."

"You really don't like him, do you?"

"He tried to put my head through a table once."

"Only because you shot him once."

"He bruised; I bled. I don't think we're even yet."

She couldn't help laughing. It occurred to her that she didn't hate him quite as much as she'd told their father she did. He really wasn't any worse than anybody else in her odd, complicated, dysfunctional family. Which didn't say much for the rest of them, but family was family. You couldn't choose them. You just had to cope with them. And watch your back.

* * * *


End file.
